Ronan
For the first time in years, I sleep past seven. Apparently last night took more out of me than I realized. Daisy’s warm body is draped over mine like a blanket, keeping me glued to my slumber like a potent drug. When I finally peel my eyes open, I see a mess of blonde, the sun shining through Daisy’s hair creating a halo over her sleeping face.
My bed has never felt more inviting. And I’m half tempted to wake her up with my mouth between her legs, but after last night, I want her to rest. When Daisy is with me, I want her to always be well-rested, well-fed, and well-fucked.
Then I let the conversation in the car replay in my mind, the same fear and anxiety surfacing once again. Is this how it’s going to be? Constant worry that I won’t be enough? That I won’t please her enough? That she’ll need something from someone else and leave me broken-hearted?
Sooner or later, I have to relax. She loves me. I’m confident of that. So why am I still so worried?
When I finally crawl out of my bed, it’s with the intention to go to my office to follow up with the email to Fitz. And I realize the desire to get married and settle our business as fast as possible is just another form of that anxiety and unease. I’m covering that up with the excuse that I just want to be sure Daisy is taken care of.
So, after a rushed shower, I’m dressed and sitting in my office, opening my email. I’m halfway through typing out the message when my phone rings.
Glancing down at the caller ID on the screen, I recognize the investigator’s name, and my stomach instantly fills with lead, flooded with shame. I nearly forgot about that email. The one I never should have sent.
Which is why I nearly let it go to voicemail.
But maybe it’s curiosity that inspires me to pick it up. He wouldn’t call if there was nothing.
“John,” I say as my greeting after swiping the screen.
“Ronan,” he replies coolly. And then he gets right into it. No salutations or small talk. “I ran a search on Daisy Bennett’s family history. Her father, Alan Bennett, is a chiropractor in Chesapeake, Indiana. Her mother, Shannon Masters, was a real estate agent. She died of breast cancer three years ago.”
As I listen to him rattle off facts, it sounds at first like nothing I didn’t already know. But when I hear a name I’ve heard before, I freeze. “Wait, what? Say that name again.”
“Shannon Masters. If it sounds familiar, it’s because you wrote her a million-dollar check nine years ago. I did a scan of your finances and business history on all of these names, and Shannon’s name popped up.”
He’s talking so fast and I’m struggling to keep up, I barely notice Daisy walking into the room. All I can picture is Shannon’s face, seeing her as she stands in the doorway of my office—broken-hearted and afraid.
Much like Daisy is now.
Long blonde hair, round blue eyes, full lips…
It hits like déjà vu.
“Ronan?” Daisy whispers hesitantly as I stare at her with wide, frightened eyes.
On the phone, John continues, “Shannon Masters cashed the check and deposited the funds into a savings account with your name in the memo, the beneficiary being Daisy Moon Bennett.”
“What’s wrong?” she mutters, gaping at me with concern.
“Thank you, John,” I rasp into the phone.
“I’ll email you the report. Bye, Ronan.”
The phone line goes dead, and I stare at Daisy.
My mind is on a loop. No emotions or feelings building just yet. Just their faces, their names, this new revelation cycling through my brain.
Daisy is Shannon’s daughter.
Shannon’s daughter.
Shannon is dead.
“Ronan, what’s going on?” she cries, louder this time, her voice full of desperation.
When I glance up at her face again, I see the remorse. The fear. The regret.
She knows.
She’s known this entire time.
“Please talk to me,” she begs, stepping toward my desk.
I glance up at her, emotions battling for control as I let everything sink in. Shame and disgust with myself for touching Shannon’s daughter. Anger and regret for not knowing until now. Disappointment and fear in realizing that everything I’ve had with Daisy up until this moment has been seeped in deception.
I’m such a fool.
Normally, I’m not a spontaneous man. I make thoughtful, strategic, careful plans. My business and my success have proven that. So then why am I such a fool when I’m in love? Why do I fall so easily? Give away my heart at every opportunity?
“Daisy,” I mutter, my hand covering my mouth, my scorn-filled eyes burning. She’s crying. Large tears stream effortlessly over her face, an expression of worry written in the furrow of her brow.
“I assume whoever was on the phone just now told you about my mother.”
“I don’t understand,” I mutter, and she hiccups through a sob. “Why? I’ve already given you money. Did you want more?”
Her face contorts into anguish. “No. Ronan, I meant what I said. I don’t want your money. It was never about that.”
“Then what was it about?” My voice is a cold, emotionless void…exactly how I’m feeling inside.
“I just wanted to know who you were. She left your name on this account for me, but all I knew about you was that you spent time with her. I didn’t know you loved each other…until you told me. I had no idea why you left me so much money.”
Something in me cracks. A splinter in the shield around my heart.
Everything with Daisy has been…a lie.
“Why didn’t you tell me? Why couldn’t you just ask me?”
“I don’t know. Ronan, you were all I had left of my mother. I think deep down I was afraid that if I asked you, and you didn’t remember her, it would hurt. Or that she meant nothing to you.”
“I loved her,” I snap, my hand slamming against the table.
Daisy flinches, more tears cascading over her cheeks.
And every memory of what I’ve done with Daisy, what I’ve done with Shannon’s daughter, comes flooding back to my mind and I keel over, my head in my hands.
“Please get out,” I mutter.
Daisy sobs again. “This changes nothing for me.” Her voice is so small and sad.
“It changes everything for me,” I reply, leveling my gaze on her face. And I watch as those words hit her, their meaning heavy and harmful. The proposal. The promises. The way I felt for her…gone.
She sucks air into her shaking chest as she steps backward toward the door. Before disappearing, she pauses and wipes her face. “You promised you would never hurt me,” she says with a whimper. “This hurts, Ronan.”
I don’t respond. I don’t even look up. Staring down at the floor, my elbows on my knees and my body folded inward like I’ve been shot, I sit in silence as she leaves.
The sound of the front door slamming moments later rings through my ears, echoing with the same pain it inflicted nine years ago.
